October 27th, 2012


Aphrodite Baroque

You take it from the top. And then repeat
with longer trills. Strings make a noise like storm -
a cold high flute. Compared to it, you're warm
who otherwise would be harsh steel on feet.

Your hair is high, pin-curled and powdered white.
Your cheeks are dotted red, a doll's sweet face.
Your voice so loud it fills this velvet space
and exits echoing. It thrills the night

the night where lovers lie. And in your box
watching yourself, you sit. Behind your fan
you weep and laugh in turn. A rataplan
shocks in the orchestra. Amid stage rocks

you mourn lost love, hit notes of glory pain.
You sing and watch, feel truly and yet feign.

Aphrodite Occupy

Her naked breasts our shield we march the street
emptied of police full of her angry scream
rage so intense it wakes us into dream.
The rhythm of our chant has skipped a beat

halted our stride. Her wrath is the despair
of true love money broke, the fierce frontiers
tear love an open wound across the years.
To her gold, nations – trivial as air.

She's older far, more dangerous. She fights
beside us. Never dream she's on our side
nor cross her – those who do have always died
of love. If lucky, after dream-sweat nights.

But for this moment, on our barricade,
for her own reasons, love comes to our aid.

Aphrodite Inquisitor

She'd really rather never use the rack,
thumbscrews or Iron Maiden, boot or whip.
She likes to talk through each relationship
forensically examine where the lack

you found in each beloved seemed to lie.
Does not assume the fault was wholly yours.
And when your answer's honest, there's applause.
She likes to reinforce. Tears in your eye

are also a good sign; though strong bright lights
are shining on you – not to make you sweat
and purely to ensure you don't forget
a single harsh word in those final fights.

And any pain you go through helps her find
your new love. She's just trying to be kind.